


Ménage à Deux

by yonderdarling



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Selfcest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:39:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10587579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonderdarling/pseuds/yonderdarling
Summary: Siri, does it count as a threesome if two of the people involved are the same person?





	

**Author's Note:**

> It needed to be written, so I wrote it. Interestingly enough, this was almost finished before it was announced Simm was coming back to Doctor Who, so one can only assume I'm channelling the future in a very specific and sexually depraved sort of way. Non-con elements (mostly regarding Ten/Simm!Master on the Valiant).

2007, as years go, isn't his favourite. 1997 - great, coming up on the new millennium. 1987. Good music. 1977 - Star Wars, and the music was even better. 1967 - he could go on, but he makes himself shake it off. Lets himself dwell.

The Doctor steps out of his TARDIS, looks around at the gloomy, posh street somewhere in London. 2007. He checks his watch, clears his throat. Ignores the three VOTE SAXON posters plastered along an otherwise finely-made fence. There's another sign on one of the postboxes, peeling in the light drizzle. He sighs.

2007 isn't just that. It's Rose, and it's Martha. But it is the Master, too, Harold Saxon, one of the closest times the Master had ever gotten to destroying Earth, to breaking him.

"As choices go, this is a poor one," he says, patting the TARDIS's door. She ignores him. "Why?"

And then, he realises. The Doctor blinks, looking around the pale, clean street. He's not the only being out of place, out of time here. He tilts his head this way and that, catches that sense of out-of-place that only other Time Lords and Ladies would understand.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, the Doctor sets off down the pavement, following the thread. It takes him towards the posh end of the street, where there's a definite view of the Thames, but none of the riffraff, and there's a house with a solid oak door.

The Doctor's seen that door, but not with his own eyes. Before he knows it, his hand is on the doorknob, cool brass under his palm. It's unlocked, and he steps inside.

As he steps into a small hallway, the Doctor tastes flecks of red and violet in the air, darkening to scarlet and purple in his mind's eye. He closes his eyes and concentrates, and feels a pressure on his lips, remembers blue light in a room full of skeletons. The Doctor opens his eyes again, looks around the hallway. Missy is here. Missy is here in 2007, and she _certainly_ shouldn't be, and the Master is here, Harold Saxon is here, this is his house, his house. The carpet is a rich dark red, the walls the perfect shade of eggshell to offset it. Tastefully understated art and rich timber furniture.

And there's noises from upstairs. The Doctor ascends the staircase, one hand on the smooth, carved banister. His boots sink into the carpet again, their polished black contrasting against the plush material. He's never been here before, but he saw bits and pieces across time, when he was on the Valiant, when the Master was blonde and starving, and the Master's always liked offices with afternoon sunlight.

And there's some very interesting noises. Groans. Grunts. A muffled cry.

The Doctor creeps up to the study door, takes a moment to admire the play of the grey light outside on the wood. And he pushes the door open, steps inside. His jaw drops.

The Master is fucking Missy; Missy is fucking the Master. It's brutal, Missy's teeth in the Master's shoulder, the Master's hands digging into the flesh of her hips. Missy's perched up on the desk, her ankles hooked behind the Master's back. It's obscene; whenever the Doctor blinks he sees two timeline trails that shouldn't be meeting on his vision. It's the Master's bright, hating scarlet and Missy's vivid purple, where she has room for middle gears, even if she doesn't engage them. It's wrong, and so right, and the Doctor closes his mouth without realising he'd opened it. He takes another step into the room, boots quiet on the soft carpet, Missy moans, the Master's swearing making his palms sweat and the back of his neck prickle and he wants them, wants to touch them, wants to touch himself, wants them to stop, but -

(He'd be a hypocrite if he said he'd never done this, never with River, and never with Romana, but the Master, the Mistress - )

"Fuck, fuck, fuck - " Missy says, and he recognises that change in pitch, and that pattern of breathing, and he comes back to the present second, and Missy's watching him, her blue eyes bright in her flushed face. "Doctor - " she manages to say, and the Master groans, low and deep.

The Doctor crosses the room in three strides, takes Missy's face and kisses her, tasting her mouth and the salt from the Master's sweat. Missy whimpers against his mouth, cries muffled as she comes hard, shaking against the Master, biting at the Doctor's lips.

The Doctor's hard from this, from the two other beings in the room, the smell, the sounds, Missy still kissing him like he's oxygen. He presses his cock against the Master's arse as the Master keeps thrusting into Missy, grunting low in his throat. Finally, muffling his shout, the Master bites on Missy's shoulder and stills, coming inside her. He sighs, leans against Missy, pressing her into the desk she's sitting on.

"Doctor, Doctor - " Missy begins, and the Master finishes with her, chorusing, "Doctor."

"This is unexpected," the Master says.

The Doctor stands there, cock still hard and leaking in his jeans, pressing against the cleft of the Master's bare arse.

"Yes," he manages to say, and even manages to say it with some kind of gravity.

"You said this one had the sex drive of a week-old dead praying mantis," the Master says, and the tone of his voice should not be working for the Doctor, still, but it does. It does. "Over the brandy."

Missy tips her head back, and some her hair falls out of her updo, tumbles down her neck. "Usually," she says with a sigh, shifting back, tugging her skirt down primly. The Doctor catches a glimpse of the lacy tops of her stockings, her garter belts, and he knows she knows he saw. "Usually, but he can be swayed."

Finally the Master sidesteps from between Missy and the Doctor, carefully does up his trousers. He smooths his hair, tucks in his wrinkled, sweaty shirt before facing up to the Doctor. He jumps.

"Good grief, they baked you," says the Master, taken aback.

"I will say, your one does look more spring lamb than mutton," Missy says. She slips off the desk, winces, smirks. Brushes an imaginary piece of lint off the Doctor's shoulder. "He's got a lived-in look."

"This is so wrong," the Doctor says. "The timelines - "

"She goes, so does the memory. I remember having a really good shag," says the Master. He takes Missy's place on the desk, leaning back, studying the Doctor. "A good old shag, details mostly omitted, and we go on."

"How often does this happen - " the Doctor starts.

Missy tuts. "Like you never threw a birthday party for River - don't ask, you do not want to know," she says, glancing at the Master. "It's foul, believe me."

The Doctor lets it slide. Blood pounds in his ears.

"So turned on he doesn't know what to do with himself. It's a rare occasion," Missy says, and the Doctor rolls his eyes, sends a firm message to his cock that he's leaving, he's going - "You should fuck him," says Missy to the Master, and the Doctor nearly comes in his pants.

Missy leans over, kisses the Doctor gently. "You should," she says. "God, I bet he'd love to be fucked again." She nips the Doctor's bottom lip. "I mean, toys - "

"Toys," the Master murmurs.

The Doctor remembers some of those occasions, and shivers.

"We use toys, and the roleplaying, and the mind-melding - "

"Not here, Missy - " the Doctor says, finding his hands on her waist.

Missy sighs, breath rushing against his lips. There's a change in the air in the room, and the Master comes up beside the Doctor, slides a hand down the front of his trousers. The Doctor presses his cock into the Master's palm, and the Master chuckles.

"Fuck," says the Doctor.

"I miss fucking you," Missy whispers. "I want to see you flat on your back - "

Lips on his ear. The Master's lips. The Master kisses down his neck, massages the Doctor's cock through his trousers. The Doctor lets out a shaky breath.

"Flat on your back, legs splayed, incomprehensible, inconsolable - make him beg," Missy says to the Master, and the Master grins. "Not that I need to tell you that - "

"Certainly not," says the Master. "It's been far too long, Doctor, hasn't it. For me - ooh, about five hundred years? Give or take ten trillion."

"I don't beg," says the Doctor, surprisingly peeved for someone who's about to start thrusting into the Master's hand.

"He begs," says Missy. "Remember - "

"No, Missy - " says the Doctor, and she puts her finger over his lips.

"My least favourite word," she says, and the Master laughs again.

"Let's get you into the bedroom, my dear Doctor," says the Master.

It's not a request. The Doctor trails after the Master and Missy, closes the bedroom door carefully behind himself. Outside, it's started to rain, hard, the sky grey and oppressive. Missy spins, presses the Doctor up against the wall, the doorjamb edging into his spine, the doorknob poking his hip. 

"Why are you even here?" the Doctor asks, and gets halfway through the sentence before Missy licks into his mouth. "Miss - "

"-tress," finishes the Master, kicking off his shoes.

The Doctor gets his hands on Missy's curved hips, pushes her back. Missy grabs his lapels, drags him across the room with her until they're halfway to the bed. She shoves his jacket off, grabs his shirt and unbuttons it, ducking down to kiss at the skin she uncovers. The Doctor cups her breasts, slides his hands down her sides to squeeze her arse.

Missy licks his neck, tongue laving across his jugular, pushes his shirt off his shoulders. She sucks at his pulse point while the Master slides his hands around the Doctor's waist, unbuckling his belt. Missy kisses along to his ear, sucks the lobe into her mouth.

"Missy, Missy - " the Doctor says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Oh - "

"Time line fulfilment, I'm here because I'm here, because he's here, because we're here," she sings, still kissing his neck. "We're here because we're here because we're here-"

That's good enough for him. The Doctor pushes Missy's shirt off, dips his head to bite her shoulder. The Master slides his hands down the Doctor's boxers, takes his cock gently, tugs. Missy giggles as the Doctor swears into her skin.

"Get your clothes off," the Master says, stepping back.

Missy kisses the Doctor, nips at his bottom lip, grins. She takes a step back, turns and begins to shuck her corset. The Doctor feels the Master's firm hands on his shoulders, and the Master turns him to face him. The Doctor quickly begins to unbutton the Master's shirt, runs his palms over the Master's chest, feeling the familiar double-beating of his hearts. The Master takes the Doctor's shoulders, presses down.

"On your knees," he says, and Missy giggles in the background.

The Doctor kneels. The carpet is soft.

"Oh, oh, this is good," says Missy, hands cool on the Doctor's neck. "Oh this is going to be fun." She drags her fingers up into his hair, tugs lightly, strokes the strands. "Suck his cock, Doctor."

"You've got the self-control of a three-year-old, Mistress," says the Master, resting his hand on top of the Doctor's head, pressing down.

"You've got no idea," the Doctor mumbles, and he looks up, brushes his nose against the soft skin of the Master's stomach, along the trail of hair that leads down his torso, disappears under his tailored pants.

"Do you even remember how, with this one?" the Master asks, and the Doctor meets his gaze for the first time properly, and it takes him back - for a second, there's nothing but panic, and the Doctor feels Missy's nails pressing into the back of his neck and -

"He practises," Missy murmurs, still stroking the back of the Doctor's neck. "Remember the toys? Oh, he misses it. Use your teeth, dear," she adds, and the Master winces.

"The zip, you knob," Missy says. She palms the Doctor's face, slides her thumb across his mouth. Presses the pad against his lips, until the Doctor opens them. She presses her thumb against his teeth. "There he is. Go on now, Doctor."

Missy holds her hands against his head, stroking her thumbs against the shells of his ears, one wet with his spit, the other dry. The Doctor leans over, unpractised (remembers how long it's been since he had to do this), and decides to test the Master's limits. He leans up and takes the cold metal between his teeth, tugs the Master's fly down awkwardly. The Master makes a soft noise above him, and then the Doctor reaches up and tugs the Master's trousers down around his thighs, followed by his underwear. The Master's cock fills his vision, medium length, thicker than the Master in the Doctor's blurred memory of the Valiant. Missy hums, stroking the sides of the Doctor's face. The Master places one hot hand on top of the Doctor's head, takes a fistful of hair; not pulling (yet) just holding, holding. The Doctor reaches up again, takes the Master's cock in his hand, strokes up and down its warm length, the skin fragile beneath his fingers.

"Have you forgotten?" Missy asks, her voice low, and the Master makes a dismissive noise.

"Cunt isn't that good," he says, and it's Missy's turn to chuckle. "Oh, you think you're that good?"

"My dear fellow, I _know_ I'm that good," she says. "Doctor - "

The Doctor opens his mouth and takes the Master's cock between his lips; the quiet sigh Missy and the Master make at the same time is seared onto his memory. He lets the motions come back to him, lips over his teeth - except for the occasional scrape that makes the Master squirm - tongue curved. Missy runs her hands down the sides of his face, rests them on the flesh of his neck. The Doctor pulls his head back, runs his tongue along the bottom of the Master's thick cock, tongues the slit. The Master hisses, tightens his grip on his hair.

The Doctor licks the underside again, takes the Master's cock back into his mouth, sucks, tastes precome. Missy purrs, and suddenly steps away. The Doctor curves his tongue again and moves his head back and forth, lets the Master move his hips, fucking his mouth shallowly. The Doctor's jaw aches - he _is_ out of practise - but he perseveres, the Master's cock fat and hot in his mouth. The Doctor grips the Master's thighs, which tremble, almost imperceptibly.

There's a rustle of skirts and purple in the corner of his vision and Missy returns, kneeling beside him. Her hands quick and efficient, she tugs up his shirt, undoes his trousers and pulls them down with his pants.

The Master's grip on the Doctor's hair tightens when Missy produces a bottle of lube, slicks up her fingers. She reaches down to the Doctor's arse, teases at his hole, the lube cold against his skin. She slips her finger in up to the first knuckle. The Doctor jumps, and the Master chuckles, pats the top of his head. He thrusts into the Doctor's mouth, harder this time, almost hitting the back of his throat -

"He might bite, if he gets excited," Missy says coolly, and the Master grunts. "Well, you don't need a dick for your next set of plans, I suppose - "

"Fuck you," says the Master, pulling his cock out of the Doctor's mouth. "Get up, Doctor - "

"Pants off," Missy says, and the Doctor obeys. She makes a little show, as she always does, of slipping off her underwear, rolling down her stockings. She catches the Master's look. "Week-old praying mantis with certain particularities."

(Missy isn't like this Master, Missy's like the Masters who came before the war - she's rough, and bites, and holds him down; this Master, the Doctor remembers all too well, went beyond rough. Wouldn't let him get back up).

Missy gestures, and the Doctor sits on the bed, struggles out of his trousers. The Master watches as Missy makes another motion. The Doctor lies on the bed, splays his legs.

"That's my boy," says Missy, reaching between the Doctor's legs, stroking his aching cock. "He's a good boy."

The Doctor glances over at the Master, who is quickly taking the rest of his clothes off. He jumps, as Missy slips her lubed finger between his cheeks and into his arse -

"Touchy, touchy - " Missy says, and gives him a fanged grin.

She curls her finger inside him, leans down and kisses his stomach as she opens him up. The Doctor doesn't know where to focus - the Master, now lazily stroking his cock as he watches, the heat of Missy's lips and tongue on his belly, her teasing finger inside him. (He remembers doing this with Romana, so long ago, and they'd both ended up with headaches). Two fingers. The Doctor swears as Missy presses on his prostate, and his legs twitch.

"He's going to fuck you," Missy says, and the Doctor swallows, his throat dry. "Oh, what will I do with myself while that goes down?"

"Missy - "

"I could suck your cock, I guess," she says, and there's slick noises as she speaks, her fingers, and the Master lubing up his own dick. "Do you want me to suck you off, Doctor?"

He nods, swallowing, his mouth dry.

"The Master fucking you, your Mistress sucking you," says Missy, in a sing-song tone. "Not a fan of it, logistically. I want to see your face when you come." She sighs, and the Doctor groans. "But - then it would be all over so quickly, wouldn't it, Doctor? Doctor?"

"Doctor, answer when we speak to you," says the Master, and the Doctor forces his head up. "You don't want this to be over too quickly?"

"No, Master. No, Mistress," says the Doctor, and is rewarded with a third finger, stretching him wider. He groans. "Missy - "

"Too fast?" she asks, and he shakes his head. "I could play with myself, but I know you like that, all too much," she says. "Remember how he likes to watch?" she says, and the Master nods. "Feeling like he controls his Master, oh you like that, don't you?"

There's a witty retort in his mind, but what comes out of his mouth is a desperate whine. Missy splutters, sits back between his legs, laughing. She rests her hands on his thighs.

"Yes, that would have been a good one," she says, and the Doctor bats at her. "You want something?"

"You know what I want," the Doctor says, surprised at how low his voice is. Missy raises an eyebrow at him, slips off the mattress.

"Your wish is - well, it's mine too, so," she says, lying on the bed beside him, propping herself up on the pillows. "My Lord Master," she says, gesturing.

"My Lady Mistress," says the Master, with a nod.

Missy rolls over, leans against the Doctor, presses her hand - her nails - between his hearts, her nose at his throat against his jugular. The Doctor watches, stomach tight, cock aching as the Master strokes his own cock one last time, positions himself between the Doctor's legs. The blunt head of the Master's hot, slick cock presses into him and the Doctor lets out a slow groan. The Master matches him as he pushes inside, thick and hard and hot. Missy sighs, and they all pause for a second, poised like a taut guitar string, waiting to be plucked.

The first stroke is painful, until the Master shifts, and his cock hits the Doctor's prostate on every thrust. The Doctor gasps, stares at the Master's face - pupils dilated, hair sticking up crazily, his cheeks flushed - commits it to memory. He reaches out, tries to clasp the Master's hands, but the Master shakes him off, plants his hands on either side of the Doctor's waist. He sets his rhythm, rough, jolting, making the Doctor shout out. He sees red behind his eyes.

Beside him, Missy twists, sits up, studies the Doctor's face. She turns to face the Master, still resting one of her hands on the Doctor's chest, his hearts thudding under her fingers.

"Don't let him come too fast," she says. "Take all the fun out of this visit, if you do."

The Master laughs, pants. He shifts between the Doctor's legs, changes the angle of his thrusts.

"Fuck," mutters the Doctor. "Fuck, fuck - " He reaches for his own cock. "Fuck - "

"No, no," says Missy. She catches his wrist, twists it in her grip. "Don't waste that. That's mine."

The Doctor spasms as the Master's cock brushes against his prostate, like sparks going up his spine. He swears again, sucks in a breath. He can feel the heat and hardness of the Master's cock inside him, the red-heat of the Master's mind - the pulsing, leaping, frantic energy of Missy's thoughts. Probably reading his thoughts, Missy hums, slings one of her legs over his neck, sits on his chest.

"Oh, yes," says the Doctor, grabbing her hips.

She shifts, and the Master makes a pleased noise, until Missy's sitting on the Doctor's face, her cunt gloriously wet and hot on his lips. He licks roughly at her folds, tasting her, tasting the Master, feeling the Master inside him, filling him -

"Let's go for quantity, not quality here," Missy murmurs, gripping the solid timber of the headboard. "Doct - " she gasps, as the Doctor shifts her, sucks her swollen clit into his mouth.

The Master continues to fuck him, hard, rough, making low noises at the back of his throat. The Doctor is artless as he sucks and licks at Missy, gripping her arse with one hand. The Master hits the Doctor's prostate dead on; the Doctor groans, Missy swears, high-pitched. The psychic energy between the Master and Missy burns white in the Doctor's brain, and explains why Missy comes so fast and so hard, crying out. She grinds down on his mouth, panting, and the Doctor keeps licking at her, drawing out her orgasm while she gasps for breath. He sucks at her clit again and she flinches, swears, moves.

"Doctor - Doctor," she says, sitting back, perching on his chest, her thighs silky and shaking by his ears.

"Doctor - " the Master repeats, and snaps his hips one-two-three, hard and deep inside him. "Fuck - " he says something in Gallifreyan; an old swearword from before the war that's rarely used anymore, buries himself inside the Doctor and comes, hot inside him, shuddering.

Missy rolls off the Doctor, swipes her hand across his face, getting the worst of her juices off his chin. The Master stays inside the Doctor, moving his hips in small, painful circles.

"No," the Master says, before the Doctor can even reach for his own aching, leaking cock. "No, no."

Missy catches her breath, slips her hand between her legs, rubs herself. "No, certainly not, dear Doctor."

A long, stretched pause, and the Master pulls out of the Doctor. Both of them groan, and the Master tumbles onto the end of the bed, wipes the sweat off his forehead.

Missy leans over, kisses the Doctor messily, tasting herself on his mouth. "My turn," she says, against his lips, slinging her leg back over his waist.

She makes to move onto his cock slowly, teasing, but the Doctor can't wait, and he grabs her hips and flips her onto the mattress. Missy shrieks and laughs, wraps her legs around his waist as he buries himself in her hot, wet cunt. Missy's nails rake down his back as he fucks her, her legs tight around his middle. She's slick and hot and he's so hard - he realises she's crying his name out, and that just makes him fuck her harder.

He knows he won't last long, and Missy begins to shake underneath him, tangling one hand in his hair. The other she pushes between their bodies, rubs at her clit, mewling. The Doctor glances over at the Master, sees that the other Time Lord is hard again, fisting his own cock, watching the pair. He looks back at Missy, feels her breath on his cheek. The Doctor dips his head to suck at her neck, just above her shoulder, and Missy shrieks, her cunt tightening around his cock, and she comes. Her body shakes against his and the Doctor follows her, groaning as he spills inside her, burying his face in her neck, breathing in her scent, and the intermingling smells of sex and linen and brandy and the Master. His eyes roll back into his head and he blacks out for a moment. Comes to with his face flat pressed into Missy's neck. Missy rubs at his shoulder, drawing the pads of her fingers across the paths of her fingernails.

After a few minutes Missy shifts, pushes the Doctor off her, and stares up at the ceiling, her face flushed, legs splayed, hair a mess. The Doctor rolls onto his side, mindful of the matching aching in his stomach and arse. After a few moments, Missy rolls to face the Doctor, grins lopsidedly at him. The Doctor finds himself smiling back. Missy rubs her flushed face against his hot chest, sighs, breath cool against his skin. Missy rests her hand on his side, rubs his hip in small circles. She kisses along his sternum and the Doctor dips his head, kisses the top of her messy hair.

Strong hands grab his waist and flip him onto his stomach again. The Doctor groans and the Master reaches between the Doctor's splayed legs, rubs at his half-hard cock. Again, slick, lubed fingers are slipped into the Doctor's arse - he flinches away, oversensitive - and the Master presses on, his cock slipping into the Doctor's hole, dead against his prostate. The Doctor yells as the Master begins to move - half pleasure, half pain. Missy reaches up and palms the Doctor's nape, threading her fingers into his hair. She tugs, hard enough to distract him for a brief second. The Doctor raises himself up onto his elbows and knees, presses his face into Missy's collarbone, the heat of her skin against his forehead. The Master says something that the Doctor misses, a Gallifreyan dialect he's long forgotten, grabs the hair at the back of the Doctor's head and pulls him off Missy.

"Can't let you two have all the fun," the Master growls, and begins again.

 

 

* * *

 

The Doctor starts to come back to himself. Aching back and arse, sore legs, sore stomach. Hands clutching the linen. His head aches, a throbbing at the top of his skull - a sense of two timelines intercepting when they shouldn't. Rain falling outside. The Doctor shifts his head, and his nose brushes something soft and warm. Warmth, smell, another Gallifreyan. Voices, almost quieter than the rain. Female; male. Scottish; English. Of course, of course. He forces himself to not think about the past hour, lifts an arm and loops it around Missy's hips. Instantly, her fingers are combing through his hair above his ear. They trail up to the top of his scalp, press where the throbbing is. There's a sharp burst of pain, then it alleviates. Soothing. Nothing. He squeezes Missy's hips, pain panging through his bicep.

"Good morning," Missy murmurs. "Afternoon."

"You were right about him not being a spring chicken," says the Master. "Back in the old days, he'd be ready for round two by now."

Missy runs her hand over the Doctor's hair, traces her thumb back and forth along the shell of his ear. Shifting again, the Doctor presses his face into her side. Missy tugs the rumpled blankets up over his bare back and shoulders, cups the back of his neck. If he didn't know any better, the Doctor would say she's being protective.

"You have the Archangel meeting in less than an hour," she says finally. "You need to be ready. Who knows where Lucy is."

"She's at the salon," says the Master. "Sent her off, as you do." The mattress dips and the blankets rustle as the Master clambers out of bed. "I need to have a shower. What suit do I wear?"

"The charcoal one with the Rassilon-crest cufflinks," Missy says. She keeps stroking the Doctor's hair. "It's got that nice lining, what was it?"

"Dragons," says the Master. "The satin dragon embroidery."

Missy hums happily.

"Well, I am glad to see we never lose our sense of style," the Master says. "I mean, I do question all the purple - "

"Question it in silence, my Lord Master."

The Doctor listens to the Master's footsteps on the carpet, the door to the ensuite opening and closing. Missy hums, slides down in the bed next to him. She rubs the back of the Doctor's neck, down his spine, the heel of her hand bumping along his vertebrae. She names them and counts them, her mind's voice clear in his own. C1. C2. Thoracic. Lumbar. Sacral. She presses her fingers into the dimples above his arse. Then, coccyx. The Doctor swallows, his throat dry. Missy pats his arse gently, halfway between affectionate and mocking.

He tries to speak, but merely groans. 

"You're right?" she asks, and the Doctor nods. "We knew you were awake." Another nod. "He just isn't in a caring mood." Missy gives him a kiss on the temple. "Go back to sleep."

He shifts. Everything hurts. Still, he can't let the side down. "That version of you had caring moods?" Anew, he feels very sorry for his Tenth self.

Missy tuts. "Go back to sleep." And, rubbing his back, she kisses him again, lips soft. "Go to sleep."

He does. About twenty minutes pass, and his eyes open again. Missy moves next to him, rolls over so her front is pressed into his back. The Doctor stretches, groans when something in his shoulder pops.

"Rain, rain, rain." Missy begins to hum the old rain, rain, go away rhyme, pressing her face into his neck. She rubs her nose along his spine. "It was a dark and stormy night - "

"It's November," says the Doctor. He clears his throat, feels the strength in his voice returning. "It's three in the afternoon."

Missy makes a thinking noise. "Why do the humans put their months on planets that don't have a twelve-month prime-star orbit?"

The Doctor rolls over to face her, brushes the tangled hair back from her face. Missy tips her head and tries to kiss his palm. Then, the Doctor presses his head into the pillow and slides across so his face is sandwiched between the pillow and her face. When she blinks, the Doctor can feel her eyelashes brushing along his cheek.

"Habit, I suppose," he says, and hears the shower being turned off. "You're done, it seems."

"Mm," says Missy, and hums again, going up and down the same four notes. She holds the back of his neck again, brushing her fingers along his hairline. "Efficient, I am."

"It's been half an hour."

"It's this shampoo I was trying, you have to do it strand by strand," says Missy.

"You had a receding hairline and no facial hair capability."

"I had the capability, I didn't have the jaw," Missy says. "And - "

It's still raining, and the wind whistles outside. The Doctor leans back and kisses her gently, feels Missy smiling against his mouth. It's soft, and warm, and she kisses him back happily, humming again. Missy pecks along his cheek, nibbles at his ear. With a practised movement, Missy shifts so she's lying on top of him, chest to chest, their legs tangled. Her weight presses his sore arse into the mattress, but he makes himself ignore it. The Doctor catches her mouth again, their tongues brushing.The bathroom door creaks open and the Master makes an "ugh" noise.

"Put out or piss off," says Missy, rolling off the Doctor, staring at herself across the room. She tips her head. "Are you ready?"

"For the meeting?" says the Master. "Ask a stupid question." He drapes his towel over the armchair in the corner and pads over to the wardrobe, naked. He starts digging through drawers, looking for underwear. "In half an hour, so you two should probably take this subtle hint."

The Master bends down to select a pair of shoes. The Doctor watches, and Missy jabs him in the ribs, rubs her hand in circles across his chest. The Doctor makes himself look away from the Master's arse, lifts his arm and loops it around Missy's shoulders. She settles in beside him, leaning against him. She runs her hand down his bicep, possessive, scratching her nails down his skin, and the Doctor threads their fingers together. Missy squeezes his hand, keeps humming the rain song. The Master gets dressed carefully, efficiently, takes an overcoat out of the wardrobe and drapes it over a chair - 

"One of your coats has red lining now," says Missy. "Doesn't it?"

"And here I was thinking you keep a little scrapbook of all my outfits," the Doctor says sarcastically, watching the Master button his shirt. "Is it illustrated, or do you have a collage?"

"How cute, you're copying me," says Missy.

The Master chuckles, and the Doctor leans into Missy, Pavlov's dog to the end. She lifts their interlinked fingers to her mouth, and kisses the back of his hand. The Doctor presses his forehead against her temple, breathes in the smell of her hair.

"I had the cape. With the red lining. I was first, with that cape," the Doctor says. "You're copying me."

"The magician's cape," Missy and the Master say together.

Missy chuckles, and the Doctor wrinkles his nose, covers his eyes. Missy leans across and pecks him on the cheek; runs her hand down his face and tugs at his earlobe. The mattress dips as the Master sits on the end of the bed with his back to them, to lace his brogues. Missy takes the break in conversation to straddle the Doctor and kiss him properly. The Doctor responds, brushing her hair back, cupping her neck, trailing one hand down to her hip. He kisses down her neck, and Missy purrs, presses her chest against his.

The Master clears his throat. Again, the Doctor pulls back from Missy, peers at him over her shoulder, rubbing the small of her back.

"I'm busy," Missy says.

"You two need to get out, eventually," the Master says. "I don't care how well you're getting on these days."

"Just tell Lucy not to come up here," says Missy. "She'll obey."

The Master smirks, adjusts his cufflinks. "Well, yes, but I'm sure your earlier self, Doctor, will eventually sense something's up, with three extraneous Time Lords in such close proximity."

The Doctor nods, shifts awkwardly. With Missy sitting warm and very naked in his lap, the pheromones that must be flooding the room - he's -

"In your own time," Missy says smugly. "Hello _again_ , Doctor," she adds, glancing down.

"I hate you," says the Doctor. 

"If you're going to fuck again, you're welcome to use the shower," the Master says pointedly, and he checks himself in the mirror. He cocks his head to one side, checks the angle of his jaw. Turns to face them properly. "And then - "

"I do know where the towels are," says Missy, and the Doctor hides his smile in her shoulder. She holds up a hand. "My dear. Consider the hint taken." Missy crawls out of bed, catches her shirt without looking when the Master throws it at her. "We're off. Doctor?"

"You take about an hour to get dressed, so that give me fifty minutes of nap time," says the Doctor.

Missy clicks her fingers at him, and the Doctor scrubs his fingers through his hair, nods.

"In your own time," says the Master again, with a heavy sigh. "It was - " he clears his throat, nods. "Doctor." The Master raises one hand at Missy, half waves. Missy nods. He closes the door behind him with a gentle click.

"Well," says the Doctor.

"He's jealous," says Missy, and she sounds smug, which -

"Are you actually pleased you've one-upped yourself?"

"I wouldn't call you one-upping in comparison to Ten, no," says Missy. "No, I remember, now, vaguely." She shakes out her shirt, lays it out on the end of the bed; does the same with her skirt and underthings, her corset and coat, and stockings and garter-belt. "I'm going to shower. Have a nice nap."

"Were you jealous?" the Doctor asks. "Seriously? You're pleased?"

Missy pauses, hands on hips, naked, the marks of his and the Master's teeth and mouths on her body. The Doctor watches her expression carefully. Missy combs one hand through her tangled hair, pulls out a stray pin and puts that on the bedside table.

"I couldn't place the emotion. Not quite, jealous, I suppose, merely resigned."

With that, Missy shrugs and heads into the ensuite, closing the door behind her. The Doctor gets up when he hears the water start, finds his own clothes and spreads them out on the bed as Missy has with her own. His shirt is missing more than a few buttons. The Doctor straightens the bedclothes, rescues Missy's coat when it falls on the floor. A bouncy tune begins to emanate from the ensuite - Missy singing some odd operetta. He lets himself into the steamy bathroom and opens the shower door. Missy glances over her shoulder at him as she shampoos her hair.

"I thought that was strand by strand."

"I'm a rebel," she says, making room for him, and the Doctor steps inside. 

"You're evil," says the Doctor. "Pass the soap."

Missy passes it. "You're the one who just shagged two of me, so who's the evil one?" She grins at him, tips her hair under the water's spray.

"You," says the Doctor. "Definitely you."

She snorts, the noise echoing in the bathroom, and the Doctor turns the hot water higher, soaping himself up.

"Resigned to what?" he asks.

Missy keeps rinsing her hair, eyes closed. She slicks her hands along the top of her head, her hair black and wet down her neck and back.

"You must know," she says finally, taking the soap off him and sudsing up her chest and shoulders. "You need me to say it?"

"Do you regret how you behaved, back then? Not - to the planet, I know you're not sorry about that. About what you did to me, sometimes, on the Valiant."

Missy purses her lips. She presses her hand against his sternum, as if she's checking something is still there. "You're here, aren't you?"

"What does that have to do with anything? You're different to that one. He was different to all the versions of you that came before. With the notable exception of - "

"San Francisco," Missy says, and grimaces. "You'd like me to be sorry."

"Yes."

She still has her palm on his ribs. Missy reaches up with her free hand and strokes his wet hair off his forehead. "But you're here, aren't you?" she says. "What does that say about the both of us?"

The steam curls around them, the hot water doing marvellous things for his back pain. The Doctor sets his jaw, takes the shampoo off the shelf.

"So do we?" he asks, pouring some into his palm.

"Do what?"

The Doctor massages shampoo into his hair, tries to look nonchalant as he speaks. "Do we have sex in the shower?"

Missy blinks up at him, water on her eyelashes. She grins, predator-like. "You tell me."

"Well, honestly," says the Doctor. "I thought we could get a coffee, and maybe something to eat? Baklava?"

Missy's smile shifts, from feral to friendly. She nods. "I'd like that. I'd like that."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ilana and Matilda for their feedback, and Kiara and Sos for offering their assistance.


End file.
